Look Homeward, Babysnakes
by Lulu-Lola-Lovely
Summary: A California import. Questionable paternity. Anger. Impressionable young minds. Hormones. Art. Drama. Love. Friendship. Broken hearts. Lust...yep, they must be teenagers.


A/N: I very obviously do not own the Turtles, the artists mentioned, or the Trademarked or Logo'd brands found within.

* * *

Soft, easy listening was switched to a station that seemed dedicated to the terminal...and playing the same five songs on a loop. She'd heard Johnny Cash, Janis Joplin, Lynrd Skynrd, John Denver, and REO Speedwagon, the same five tracks in the exact same order, with a break at the top of each hour to discuss the general news, weather, and the occasional snark-riddled commentary from the DJ just to prove he was not, in fact, a prerecorded show. From six p.m. to two a.m.

Janis Joplin on the radio as she looked around carefully, stretching her legs off the bench and holding them straight out for a count of twenty-five before her sneakered feet hit the sticky floor.

The girl, a thin brunette with a swingy ponytail, ambled over to the snack bar. "Hey, can I get another cup of water?"

"You gonna eat something with that water, honey?" The man's expression says that, while this routine was cute yesterday, today it's not doing much for him. The soda machine next to the vending machine sold water, and he'd seen her buying from both.

She leaned her elbows on the counter, scanning the menu on the back wall. "What'cha got that's free, because there is no way on God's green Earth that I'm paying six dollars for a burger that costs you about a buck fifty to make,"

His teasing, genial expression evaporated. "Last cup,"

"Good to know, I'll keep my cup," She lifted it to him in salutation, taking a birdy little sip. "Damn good to know there's a water fountain nearby,"

* * *

"Scuse me?"

"You again?" The ticket manager looked up from his computer, glancing at her over his glasses.

"How much longer?" She sipped her water, leaning on the counter, smiling at him.

"Fifteen minutes," He offered up a tired smile in return. "You gonna be here when I come back tomorrow?"

She blushed. "No, I'm getting on the bus."

Two nights had seen her half sleeping on the benches, curled up on one of the plastic chairs, drowsy and dozing between hours of wide-eyed alertness. The managers had a bet going that she'd run away from home and was waiting it out to see if Mom and Dad were coming to pick her up soon, or if she could convince herself to hop on the bus and strike out on her own. California was less than a half-day trip; she had one of those faces that would make for a sitcom actress, pretty but not too beautiful; she could probably land a commercial or two.

He heaved a sigh. "Nobody's wondering where you are?" He tried to imagine her hocking tampons or Greek yogurt, her thin frame displaying fashion, or twirling away her worries in a Gap commercial.

"Why would they?" Her eyes went wide with pleasure as the clunky silver bus rolled in. "It's early," She re-shouldered her backpack, fidgeting the buttons of her flannel shirt. "I'm going." She dropped her now empty cup in the trash, dashing back to the bench for her duffle.

He came around the desk to meet her. "I'll see you off,"

He watched her ponytail swing as she bubbled over with excitement, sprinting out of the terminal to be the first in line to store her luggage and board. Way too excited for the mousy little thing he'd watched haunt the station.

People disembarking the bus seemed as excited to be leaving as she was to be going. "That's all you have?" The ticket manager figured she'd have a locker or something, maybe a car she'd 'borrowed' and decided to leave for the tow trucks.

"All I need," She handed it over to the driver, playing with her backpack strap. "Here goes me,"

He caught her elbow as she made to bop away. "Where _are_ you going, kid?"

"On an adventure," She shrugged. "Where else?"

* * *

"Fifteen minutes, people!" The doors opened. "And then we're back on the road."

"Finally!" As one, the front half the bus evacuated their seats and milled into the center aisle, shuffling off the silver vehicle en masse.

The smell of barbeque wafted through the open doors. There was a mobile smoke station in the parking lot, a big black beast of a grill. The scent of roasting meat permeated the bus quickly, more passengers filing out to go wait in line.

Sitting toward the back of the bus, a teenage girl in headphones sat listening to the radio on an old, taped up Walkman, trying to pick up something other than static before her batteries died.

She sighed, kicking her sneakered feet up on the seat in front of her, and looked out the window, flicking the volume on the Walkman to lessen the white noise in her ears.

Her stomach grumped, asking for something more than the handful of Cheerios she's gotten from the little kid in New Mexico, water from her cupped palm in the bus bathroom, a hesitantly taken breath mint from the old lady in Texas that stroked out as she stepped off the bus two stops ago. The mint had tasted stale, but no pocket lint, always a plus.

The girl sighed, closing her eyes and ignoring the snarls of her stomach, taking a generous gulp from the lukewarm water bottle at her side. She settled back into her seat, trying to clear her mind of hunger pains. Water took the edge off at least.

She settled herself again, headphones around her neck, Walkman switched off. A deep sigh went off from the seat behind her, her ears perked up to listen to the latest drama from the couple behind her.

"Go get me some food," The girlfriend tapped the glass despondently. "I'm hungry."

"Get it yourself," The boyfriend responded, tapping keys on his laptop. His headphones were slung around his neck too, expensive and noise-blocking, but they looked goofy when he put them on, like huge white blobs on his ears.

"No cash, gimme your card." A rustle of her clothing.

"Fuck no," Skin slapping, a sharp squeak. "I got something you can eat, if you're really that hungry," He closed the laptop, jiggling the tab on his zipper faintly.

"I already did that," The girlfriend whined.

The teenager in the seats in front of them wrinkled her nose, sitting up taller, twisting around to peer at them over the back of her seat.

"Well I'm not wasting money on junk food," The boyfriend replied firmly. "I ate earlier, you ate earlier; neither of us should be hungry."

The girlfriend looked up. "Hey kid," In a faded sundress, the girlfriend was thin, easily too thin, with stringy, wavy blonde hair and sea green eyes. A displaced mermaid yanked from the ocean and dumped in a smelly Greyhound fishbowl. "We wake you up?"

The teenager shifted her gaze to the boyfriend, "You still got a blank notebook?" She nodded at his backpack, the laptop now tucked safely inside.

He looked at her, momentarily amused. "Yeah,"

She straightened, folding her arms on the back of the seat and leaning her chin on them. "Trade you for it,"

"The lost art of the barter, I'm intrigued," He grinned, showing off years of expensive dental work. "What you got to offer?"

The teenager nodded at the window, to the convenience store. "What's your poison?" The girlfriend giggled suddenly, elbowing her companion with an 'isn't she adorable' expression on her face.

The boyfriend rolled his eyes, shaking his dark head. "Tell you what, you go in there and get me three cans of Red Bull, a bottle of vodka, and a cup of Lucky Charms, I'll give you my entire backpack," His smile became condescending, like a loan shark offering a bit of change to a junkie.

"Shake on it," The girl shoved her scrawny arm between the seats, sticking her hand in his face. Her nail polish was chipped, three fingers with nails bitten down to the quick. His larger, manicured fingers locked around hers.

"Girly," The girl across the aisle, in the baby pink tracksuit, shook her head, black and blonde ponytail bobbing. "You're gonna get into some trouble with that mouth," She stuck a hand into the pocket of her track pants, pulling out a half eaten fiber bar with a sound of misery. "You want some of this? I know you didn't eat last stop," It tasted like faux-chocolate drizzled cardboard, but it helped keep the pounds at bay.

"I'm good," The girl grinned, grabbing her purple knapsack from the seat. "I'm gonna grab something inside,"

* * *

The neons were half burnt out on the gas station turned party store sign. The pumps out front looked ancient; tombstones in the cracked cement, a couple still advertising fuel for eighty-nine cents a gallon. The teenager frowned at them; they should have been taken down years ago, it had to be some kind of state law.

The bells jangled above her head when she walked in. "You got a bathroom?" She looked behind the counter, eyes on the television set hooked up to the security cameras. The only thing showing was an outside view of the gas pumps. The teenager looked over her shoulder out the door, people milling around the decrepit pumps, eating and talking, snapping pictures with their camera phones. She looked back at the TV and watched the image skitz, the screen going blue as the VHS tape ejected itself.

Wow, talk about old school. She didn't think anyone used those anymore.

"Customers only," The clerk reached up automatically and took the tape out, popping a fresh one in its place. The same repeated image appeared, now with customers milling in and out of frame, fanny packs galore.

"I'm on the bus, I got ten minutes to pee and eat before the next stop," The cashier grunted a reply, pointing a thick finger at the wall. "Thanks,"

She wadded up some paper towel to plug the sink, letting the hot water run until the water was a few degrees higher than tepid, cramming the makeshift plug into the hole. Her plain black tee shirt came up and over her head, set on the back of the commode carefully. A skinny body in the mirror mocked her, poking broken nails at the ribs protruding from her abdomen. The bathroom was slightly less disgusting than the one in New Mexico, but her sneakers were not coming off, nor was her bare behind about to touch that toilet seat.

_Hungry? Bet you are, bet you wish you were in Arizona and Emmy was making pancakes for you, with real maple syrup and bananas and bacon, and you could tease her about sleeping in a hotel that offered breakfast, with diners up and down the road, but she went and bought a brand new frying pan just to cook in the room with the kitchenette._

The girl sighed, sticking her hands under the faucet and wiping them across her stomach, massaging away the hunger cramping her insides. Junk food filled the aisles of the store, but junk food wasn't going to help her hunger, it would just make her hungrier. Might be another day and a half before they reached Kansas City, the way slowpoke drove.

Cheap pink liquid soap drizzled from the dispenser slowly, a slimy pink puddle forming beneath it to leave a trail down into the sink. The girl grabbed some more paper towel, dunking it into the sink and wiping off some of the dusty grit on her arms. The Sharpie tattoo Riviera had drawn on her shoulder was still pretty vibrant, the scratches on her belly from the chain-link fence healing well, no sign of infection. She pulled her tee shirt back on, glancing down as she did so.

Jeans were still pretty clean, the duct tape on her sneakers still in place. The full shower was supposed to be Kansas City, the four hour layover when she changed buses. She glanced at her swatch watch, a relic of her mom's teen years.

Ten minutes. Miss the bus and you're up the creek without a boat, never mind the paddle.

Business couldn't be that good around these parts for a fifteen minute stop. No hookers hanging around here, pickings were far too slim.

The teenager looked up into the mirror again, blue eyes gazing back at her expectantly. _Let's hear this grand plan, babysnakes, let's hear all your big plans just one more time. Remind me why we're out here, would'ja?_ She grabbed another wad of paper toweling, catching some soap on the corner before dunking them in the water.

"Security cameras are shit, he's not paying attention," She wiped her face carefully. "Booze is at the front of the store, pills to the left, snacks on the right. Middle aisles first; if he's watching at all, he'll eyeball me there."

She dropped the soggy towels, rubbing her fists into her eyes until the flesh there stung and burned. Satisfied, the pinched her lower lip viciously, catching the burning flesh between her teeth and gnashing it until she felt blood well up. Both hands went to her hair, damp fingers tousling it, streaking wide swaths near her face, pasting strands to her skin. She looked herself over, tugging her tee shirt down until the deep vee cut displayed her pushed-up cleavage as best it could. The flannel shirt hung around her narrow hips.

She peeked into her knapsack, gauging her space. "Okay girl, think about the long run, what's gonna last. No junk food." She shouldered the bag, sweeping her short hair back into a stubby ponytail, letting a few loose strands frame her face. She looked up, staring deep into her reflected eyes. _Fuck, you look awful._ "You can do this with both hands tied behind your back and a fucking cowbell around your neck. You got this."

* * *

_"The teen was on vacation with her foster family,"_ The brunette turned to see a small television behind the counter. The news was on. Even better. She strolled into the main store easily, eying the shelves, the other customers, fidgeting her hands with the sleeves of her flannel, trying to look nervous and sleep deprived. Hardly a stretch.

The cashier didn't look up as she picked up the fifth of Bacardi, pretending to be reaching for a box of graham crackers. She lifted the bottle, glancing nonchalantly toward the cashier, absorbed in the television. A middle-aged woman with bottle-blonde hair was clinging to her husband's arm, sniffling out a story about her poor pretend daughter. The cashier never looked away from the screen. A group of boys was watching him just as intently, each taking a turn to sneak back to the beer cooler to press their luck. It was only when he heard the rattle over the door that the cashier turned to give the boys the hairy eyeball. As soon as they'd slink away from the cooler, he'd turn back to the TV

The girl walked the aisles carefully, bending to examine cans of microwave ravioli, packing her knapsack carefully in the slight shadow of a soda display. She flicked a glance at the boys; all too absorbed in trying to practice-stash soda cans in their sagging pants without losing them completely. One, feeling bold, slid a bottle of cheap wine in his pant leg, resting it on his foot. He took a step and it clunked the floor with hollow sound.

_Sloppy son of a bitch,_ She glanced toward the bored looking cashier with his back to the shoplifting action, his butt resting on the edge of the glass counter between him and the rest of the store. She made short work of the aisle, pressing pouches of tuna in alongside mini boxes of crackers, protein and granola bars, a couple packages of sugar wafers, bubblegum, breath mints. Snack cakes, those loathsome things, made their way into her hands, filling in the gaps, not an inch of space wasted. She hated the taste, the texture, the 'creme' filling, but they traveled well (even when crushed) and gave a sugar boost.

_"She's a good girl, she's not any kind of a troublemaker, she'd never do this!"_ The woman on TV was warbling. _"Angie is so kind, so respectful. Please, please, if you have her, let her come home! We love her, we just want her back,"_

"_We have no reason to believe she ran away,"_ Her husband continued. _"We know her mother's in prison, but she's a good girl with a lot of potential; she's not the kind to throw her life away on something stupid. From the moment we met, she was honest and upfront with us, she's shown us nothing but respect, and that's rare in a teenager. I just wanna know who snatched her,"_

The brunette girl hummed under her breath as she slipped through the aisles silently, packing her knapsack without so much as the untoward crinkle of plastic. The boys didn't notice, or didn't care, until she tucked a few sleeves of energy boost diet pills in her back pocket.

She noticed them noticing. "Really should have these at the register," She mused aloud, sliding a finger under the flap of a box of caffeine pills. She set the empty back behind the others, sliding the blister packs into her pocket with the diet pills. The flannel would hide the telltale bumps.

"You need help with something?" One of the boys sidled up to her, his face pockmarked. He reeked of meth.

"You work in customer service?" She smiled back, guarded. She kept half an eye on the cashier, repeating her trick with a few other boxes, palming the blister packs. The boy eyed her with some interest, impressed by her skills.

Perfect.

He dropped his gaze to the OTC drugs lined up on the shelf. "You a chemist?"

She dropped her gaze, looking at him from her lashes. "Wrong pharmacy," She dipped a hand into her left front pocket and came up with a small white tab stamped with a butterfly.

"Free sample?" She pressed the pill between his lips, and stepped back, bumping into a shelf. The cans of WD-40 rattled; her would-be lover jumped about a mile.

"You need something?" The cashier looked away from the TV long enough to see them standing together. His eyes narrowed as the boy shuffled away, looking back at his friends crowded around the end cap.

The girl looked relieved, exhaling noisily as though she'd held her breath to scream. "Toothpaste?"

He watched the boys slink together as one. "Nope,"

"Kay," She nodded and made her way over toward the coolers, looking his way gratefully.

The cashier watched a moment longer, taking in the boys dispersing to grab soda and junk, the girl leaning into the cooler to pick up a bottle. She ambled back up the aisle, pausing to consider the nachos. Three dollars for a clamshell container of chips; free cheese and chili from the dispenser. She wrinkled her nose and took the aisle back up to the register.

_"Again, Angela Jennifer West is approximately five feet, six inches tall, about a hundred and twenty five pounds, has long brown hair and brown eyes,"_ A photo popped up beside the news anchor's head. Fuzzy picture, at least a year out of date. _"She was last seen in a Howard Johnson Inn in Phoenix, Arizona. She may be headed to California."_

The brunette set the liter bottle on the counter, swinging her backpack around to dig into the front pocket for cash, making a little to-do about counting the pennies. Had the cashier been staring at the screen a moment longer, he would have known that "Angela" Jennifer "West", with shorter hair and blue, not brown, eyes stood before him, almost twelve pounds lighter than they'd announced her to be. Had he been paying attention when she walked in, he'd have known her bag was empty and flat against her thin shoulders.

Complacent people made her life so much easier.

"I hate taking the bus, I feel so grimy cleaning up in a sink." Jennifer complained with a shy smile, handing him a crumpled bill and change. "Could you put that in a bag, please, so the driver won't bitch," She embraced herself, scratching at her shoulder, eyes darting around nervously.

"I hear that," He took the money, half listening to the recap of the evening's top stories. Jennifer tapped her fingers on a plastic display holder of beef jerky, her stomach rolling as she considered the meat. It'd beat the hell out of the Twinkies. Then again, how old was it? The cashier tucked her water into a brown bag, the kind reserved for the tall man bottles he sold to the local drunks around lunchtime.

"Ain't that a damn shame, kids running away from home," He rang up the water and handed her a nickel, gazing at her open neckline. Property of the itty bitty titty committee, but displayed nicely. "You thinking about buying something else, honey?" She looked at her nickel, then the jerky, and shook her head, tucking the coin into her pocket.

"Something on your mind?" He leaned forward, pasting a gentle look on his stubbled face. Skinny kid like her, alone, with barely enough to buy a water, looking like she'd been up and at it for days on the bus...it all screamed runaway or hooker, and he'd seen enough of both to opt for the former. If she was buying water to stave off hunger, she'd be grateful to get something-anything-in her stomach soon enough.

Jennifer made a little show of looking nervous, setting her knapsack down and picking at the paper covering her bottle. "Those kids back there are trying to boost your beer," She gestured over her shoulder to the boys, once again crowded around the back beer cooler, two with hands raised to hold the bells. With the cashier mesmerized by the girl, they were stocking up their sagging pants without the benefit of a look-out now. "I saw them when I came out of the bathroom," She slid the bottle out of the paper bag, fiddling with the cap, blushing. "One of them asked if I like to party," She shouldered her backpack, looking out the window. "I wanted to tell you, before I got back on the bus." She slid her arm into the other strap of her backpack, watching him digest the information.

A quick look up confirmed her story. "Hey!" He hustled around the side of the counter, thundering through the aisles toward the boys.

Brazenly, Jennifer grabbed a handful of beef jerky from the counter and dropped it into the brown bag, tucking her water bottle into her elbow and slinking away, repeating the move as she passed an M&M display, cramming the candy bars into the brown sack, the bells jingled merrily above the door to mark her exit.

* * *

"Last call for riders!" The bus driver, a greasy looking man with a hefty belly, shouted around the truck stop, trying to corral his passengers.

"Rest stop's fifteen minutes," A woman nagged, halfway through her Big Mac. "I've got time!"

"Either you're on the bus, or you're left behind." He repeated, watching the skinny brunette ambling away from the liquor store, her backpack bulging. "You getting on, kid?"

"Yep,"

He eyed her bag. "No food on the bus,"

"I know," She smiled at him, catlike, and boarded. The bus was still pretty empty; another rest stop that'd run over, there was no way this guy was about to lose half his passengers in one go.

Jennifer smiled to herself as she walked up the aisle and dropped her bag in the seat she'd occupied before, digging into the contents. "Hand it over,"

The boyfriend looked confused. "What?"

"Your vodka," Jennifer dropped the bottle into his lap. "Your cereal," Tossed to the girl beside him. "And your Red Bull," One, two, three cans lined up on the arm of his seat. "Now gimme what's mine,"

"He sold you this?" He stared at the black label, then up at Jennifer, and back again.

"Good vodka, too," The girl nodded her approval, popping marshmallows into her mouth. "Give her the stuff,"

"Lindy,"

"Listen," Jennifer leaned over him, her small frame suddenly menacing. "Either you hold up your end of the deal, or I'll shove each one of those cans into a different hole."

"Here," He shoved the bag into her arms, looking bitter. "You could have just bought your own paper, cost less than the vodka," He watched with narrowed eyes as she unzipped the bag and peered inside.

"You could'a just given her the notebook, too," Lindy snickered, popping a marshmallow clover between her lips.

"Who says I paid for it?" Jennifer dropped into her seat, riffling through the bag. Notebooks, sketch pads, ink pens, a laptop, condoms.

She wrinkled her nose, pulling out the paper. Preppie with a sensitive side, an _artiste_ with Bose headphones and Daddy's big fat bank account to bail him out when his hippie girlfriend got boring. Jenny rolled her eyes and continued to paw through the bag. A bottle of aspirin, some lip balm, hand lotion...nothing of interest. She slid the laptop back into the bag and zipped it up.

Laptops were bulky, unreliable pieces of shit, and they didn't sell; too traceable. You sell a laptop once and it's gone, but a notebook...hundred and seventy pages means a hundred and seventy chances to make a sale. Jenny flipped through the blank sheets with a sigh, her mind already churning out images.

"Catch!" Jenny flung the bag over the seat, smirking to herself as he yelped. Lindy, still eating her cereal, shrieked and spilled the vodka-soaked bits all over his lap, her hair soaked with Red Bull.

"What the hell, Danny!" She wailed. "Why'd you throw it on me!"

"Shit, shit, shit!" Danny swore, his backpack on the floor by his feet, happily soaking up the spills. "Jesus, kid! The fuck was that for?" His shirt was soaked with a mixture of vodka, bubbly energy drink and half chewed cereal bits.

Jenny twisted around in her seat, sitting on her knees. "I got what I wanted, you can keep that,"

"The fuck did you want?" He knew the laptop was still in there, the bag was too heavy for it to be gone. Whether or not she'd broken it was another story.

"Paper, pencils, pens," Jenny shrugged. "Word to the wise, you probably shouldn't leave these in your bag if you plan on giving it away." She tossed the orange prescription bottle at him. "Hell of a drug, though,"

"My lithium!" Lindy shrieked, punching Danny's arm. "You gave away my lithium!"

"She gave it back!" Danny yelped. From up front, the doors closed and the intercom crackled to life.

_"All righty, passengers, next stop, Kansas City,"_

Jennifer settled into her seat, pleased with her haul from the liquor store and her supply of fresh, blank paper. Kansas City would be four hours; hopefully people there would be into buying her pictures.

An image prickled at the backs of her eyes, teasing her; a slender woman in a kimono, the silken folds draping low off an ivory shoulder, jet black curls spilling down her back. Pouty lips formed a name, tantalizingly full and kissable, begging to be tasted. The tightly bound kimono and rigor of her traditional upbringing masked a fiery, passionate woman calling sweetly to her lover, beckoning to him as only she could.

_Yoshi..._

Jennifer sighed, opening the sketch book and taking out a pencil, rooting around the front of her knapsack for a sharpener. Yoshi didn't sound like a girl's name; if anything, it made her think of Super Mario Brothers, movie nights with Simon.

"You're an artist, huh?" A new passenger sat on the seat across from hers, a young woman in her mid-twenties, camera case on her lap. She had a friendly, open face, hazel eyes and blonde hair she wore up in a ponytail, wrapped around in a bun.

"Yeah," Jennifer blew the shavings onto the floor, propping the book open on her knee.

"You gonna draw me a picture?" The girl smiled at Jennifer teasingly, taking a gulp from her soda bottle. "Souvenir from the trip?"

"Five bucks, I will," Jenny unwrapped a granola bar and bit into the ambrosial flavors of artificially flavored chocolate chips and high fructose corn syrup. "Got anything in mind?"

* * *

Fair warning; the first few chapters are pretty human-centric. The Turtles come in later. I'd love to know what you think, so if you're so inclined, please leave me a review.


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